


Put the Gun Down and Step Away

by Disloyal_Order_Of_Water_Buffaloes



Series: Bad things happen bingo take two! [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, I think that's it - Freeform, I wrote this on the bandstand brain cell, Jackcrutch, M/M, Missing Persons, Missing in Action, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Put the gun down and step away, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt, WWII, okay it's not actually a suicide attempt but it's close enough that I'm tagging it, this is some heavy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24620086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disloyal_Order_Of_Water_Buffaloes/pseuds/Disloyal_Order_Of_Water_Buffaloes
Summary: Jack wasn't supposed to make it home from the war. He didn't deserve to, not more than Crutchie.
Relationships: Crutchie/Jack Kelly
Series: Bad things happen bingo take two! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780039
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Put the Gun Down and Step Away

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Suicidal thoughts/almost an attempt, PTSD, gun use, war violence, MIA/missing person
> 
> This takes place mid and post-WWII

Jack wasn’t supposed to make it home alone.

His best friend he’d made was from New York, too. They were going to get back and share an apartment.

It had been five months since he’d made it back from the war and his best friend didn’t. Five months exactly. 

Fighting was hell. Crutchie was the only thing that made it genuinely bearable. 

The first time they’d met, Jack made a joke about the 18-year-old needing crutches permanently after the war, since the kid refused to recognize any injury he got unless it was  _ major _ . Jack and the few buddies he’d gotten slightly close with remember being like that when they first enlisted (literally one year earlier), eager to die doing their duty or something like that. They wouldn’t let a stupid sprained ankle take them out or having them rest for a few hours.

The group just laughed it off with the kid, watching him limp along and constantly re-injuring himself. 

Jack cared about everyone he was around, obviously. Some didn’t get along with him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. They could bump heads all day, he’d still push them out of the way of a bullet in a heartbeat.

C was different, though. He was nicknamed before Jack even  _ knew _ the guy’s real name (which was Charlie, by the way. Jack found that out a few weeks later). He couldn’t explain why or how… he just was.

The first few weeks of Crutchie being there was relaxed. He was obviously willing to do whatever, whenever, as long as it benefited everyone. He always seemed to be injured, Jack even wrapped up a pair of crutches in some newspapers as a gift for the younger’s nineteenth birthday. Crutchie pretended to be annoyed, but those crutches laid near his bed until he was gone.

It was then that there was an unspoken rule that, no matter what, they’d stay best friends. Even if they ended up living their own lives on separate sides of the city after the war, they’d keep in touch. They  _ had _ to. 

The two had gone through however many change of locations, battles, arguments, covering up the other’s dumb mistakes…

Among other things they’d managed to sneak in the few moments of privacy they got.

Comforting touches, talking through nightmares, shedding a few tears, small kisses, and... _ other _ things they’d managed to do in their precious alone time.

Jack informed Crutchie early on that they didn’t have the worst spot. Sure, there were better, calmer places to be, but there sure as hell were a lot worse, too.

Well, until they get sent in as reinforcements somewhere else in the Pacific. That also guaranteed that they were likely going to be plopped down in the middle of some  _ shit _ .

Everyone who had been through this before was uneasy. People like Crutchie who still had a somewhat romanticised view of war were almost excited. They had this idea that they’d become a hero after their first big battle rather than a statistical probability that they’d die or get seriously injured. 

C didn’t even make it to the end of whatever battle they were dropped into. It ended up lasting ten days or so before they could ease up. 

Everyone had been split into different groups so they could try to corner everyone and it would be an easy victory. Obviously, like usual, their plans fell apart. 

The constantly humid June heat was exhausting, everyone was beyond exhausted, and those who were supposed to be the reinforcements were being spread thin. This meant they fell into traps far more than at the start, no one had any extra water on them, and sleep was usually out of the question.

Crutchie and Jack were in different groups, which stressed them out, but there wasn’t time to try and switch things up (plus, the consequences for that weren’t quite worth it). Jack wouldn’t have been  _ as _ worried if the stupid boy he’d developed feelings for wasn’t going into this with some injured muscle in his arm that no one but Jack knew about.

God knows what else he’d hurt in this.

Regrouping and figuring out casualties after battles was always hard. Confirming deaths, having to declare someone missing even though you  _ knew _ they were gone, and not knowing whether someone was actually missing or if they were dead was hard.

When someone confirmed that Charlie Morris was definitely missing, likely alive…

Jack spent the rest of that night as alone as he could possibly be.

Maybe he’d be able to get back within the next week.

When a week went by, Jack changed that goal post to be a month.

By the time Jack got home, he knew that there was almost no chance he would ever see C again. All he wanted changed from knowing Crutchie was coming home to just hoping he wasn’t fucked up too bad before…

God, he hoped C wasn’t waiting, thinking they’d forgotten about him. He’d rather have Crutchie dead and not hurting over thinking he got abandoned.

Upon arriving home, he met up with an old friend that had joined the Navy anda had just gotten home. Davey understood Jack and Jack understood Davey. They got an apartment together in the city and things were… okay. Sure, neither of them slept through the night and it was difficult to adjust to being home, but they made it work. Jack sure as hell was glad he wasn’t alone.

One of the things he and Davey agreed on was that they’d both feel better with a gun in the apartment. Nothing huge, just a pistol. It was like a safety blanket that they kept hidden in case of an emergency. 

Jack guessed this wasn’t an emergency, but then he found himself sitting at the kitchen counter with the pistol in front of him.

It was loaded, he knew that. He’d been the one to load it once he got it out tonight. That was about an hour ago, he thought.

The clock that said it was 2:30 AM implied he’d been there much longer than that.

He just wanted to have let C come back and not himself. If  _ he _ could’ve gone missing and never been found…

Crutchie had deserved to come back more, in Jack’s opinion. Crutchie hadn’t even gotten to really experience what he enlisted to do before he was just  _ gone _ . Not even dead, but probably captured and--Jack didn’t even want to think about what his last memories would have been. How long was he even being held by whoever had him? Days? Weeks? Months?

The idea of it being a year or more made Jack want to vomit.

The idea of going to a place where Jack would be with Crutchie and not be here at all was uncomfortably tempting.

“Jack?”

Jack hadn’t realized he’d picked up the gun and that Davey had heard a sob come out of his mouth.

That wasn’t how this was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to worry his friend like that.

If he was going to do it, he’d at least have the decency to not do it with his roommate home. 

“Go back to bed. I’m fine,” Jack whispered and dragged the back of one of his hands across his eyes.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Davey sighed and took a few steps closer. He put his hands up in surrender when he noticed Jack’s knuckles turn white around the gun. “I’m not coming any closer, I promise.”

“I just…” Jack trailed off and refused to raise his voice any higher than the whisper. “It shouldn’t’ve been me. I don’t  _ deserve _ …”

Davey understood, and he listened. But he also tracked every movement that his friend made with the gun. 

“I know it feels that way,” he agreed gently, taking a step closer while Jack looked away to wipe his eyes again. “I understand, I do. But from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he’d be saying the exact same thing if he was here and you weren’t. So can you just… put the gun down and step away? Talk to me?”

It was a  _ long _ few moments before Jack shakily set it down so the barrel wasn’t facing either of them. It was only another moment before Davey was behind him, wrapping him in a hug with one arm and pushing the firearm out of Jack’s reach with the other.

Jack didn’t care. The second he’d made physical contact with Davey, he broke down. He let  _ everything _ out into his friend’s tight embrace.


End file.
